Project - 16 (13 page)

We ate well that night and in the morning we got ready to
leave just before dawn. Riley had spent most of the evening packing
and repacking her kit whilst I spent some time in the kitchen
preparing dried meals for the journey. My pack was always ready to
go and I had a routine of packing and unpacking every time I used
it so I didn't really need to change anything. What would change on
this trip was the long hunting rifle I'd be carrying which I'd have
to dust off. The last time I'd used it had been to hunt deer with
some of my students at the end of their course. I didn't normally
have to show Yanks how to hunt - it was usually something they'd
been brought up with but on this occasion they'd put a wager down.
“No Brit can do better on a hunt than us!” said their unofficial
leader - a veteran of the Iran war who claimed to have killed over
30 deer in his time and hunted in an African reserve. I was happy
to take the bet because I already knew where to look. By the time
I'd brought my first kill back the students were still sat near an
old trail waiting for the deer that would never arrive.

The rifle was a gift to my Dad from the US military when I
was about to turn 16. He had his own weapon, an old bolt action
thing that he'd used for years and he began training me on how to
use this one. I'd half-expected to be given the old rifle as a
hand-me-down but Dad would have none of it. He claimed he didn't
like the sleek, modern stock and scope but I knew that deep down he
adored the thing. He showed me how to look after it, to keep it
clean and oiled, and then took me out to the deer trails to hunt my
first buck. It took a few misses before I got a clean shot on a
strong Roe that had lined itself up for me without realising it. I
was over joyed at my kill but Dad was quick to calm me
down.

“
It isn't nice to have to kill the poor thing,” he said,
letting me down gently. “It was a beautiful shot, son, but we're
killing this animal with the intention of eating it and using every
bit of it to the best of our ability. Never hunt these creatures
for sport. Thanks to the Panic they're free to breed and be free
without us getting in the way - let's not abuse the privilege. A
balance is being restored here in our country and we'd be wise to
maintain it.”

It'd been a message burned into my mind afterwards. Even with
the cocky students I'd taken my kill and stripped it of everything
I could use, even down to the blood and the bone that I could
fertilise my crops with. I'd given some of the meat to the Yanks
for a final barbecue but the rest had gone into my stores to keep
me alive and I'd been grateful for it the following winter. The
Americans even gave me a crate of beer as a reward for winning the
bet.

After a big breakfast of bacon, toast and sausage, Riley went
upstairs and brought down her pack. It was a well made thing made
of black fabric and loaded with straps and buckles and shock cord.
On the outside she'd attached her tarp and the bulk of the comms
dish and some other bits and pieces. Her rifle lay next to it at
the bottom of the stairs, gleaming with the care and attention she
always seemed to take with it.

“
Are you happy you have everything?” I asked.

“
Pretty much. Most of it I brought myself, some of it I took
from your stores like you said.” She looked around. “Where's your
kit?” she asked. I found my pack and lifted it into the middle of
the kitchen floor. “Is that it?”

“
Yeah.”

“
Really?”

“
Really.”

“
There's nothing fucking there. What about your
kit?”

“
I have everything in there,” I explained. “The rest we'll
find out there in the woods using that bullshit you've heard
about.”

She laughed. “Well, I have to trust you know what you're
doing but are you sure you haven't forgotten anything?”

“
It's all there.”

“
How much does it weigh?”

“
About 10 kilos.”

“
10?”

“
Yeah.”

“
Oh man, this is going to go wrong. Please, take something
else, will you? I don't want to have to bring you home because you
didn't come prepared.”

I laughed and began washing the plates. She saw my rifle in
its case stood up against the wall.

“
Is that yours?” she asked. “Can I take a look?”

“
Sure,” I said. She picked it up and unwrapped it, pulling
back the cocking lever to check the chamber and ejected the empty
magazine in one swift movement. Then she held it up to her eye,
aiming through the window. “This is nice!” she said. “US made too.
How did you get it? From the Colonel?”

“
It was a gift years ago.”

“
Hell of a gift. When was the last time you fired it?” she
asked, sniffing the breach.

“
Last year.”

“
May I?”

“
Be my guest.”

“
Where's the slugs?”

I pointed to a box on the shelf. She began to load the
magazine with deft fingers and, taking her tool kit out with her,
she went through the door into the clearing. I dried my hands on a
towel, found and empty tin can and followed her.

She walked over to the edge of the woods, not far from where
I'd seen her dancing, and I passed her the can. She took it to a
tree quite a distance back and I could see she was counting the
paces as she went. When she was happy with the distance, she
returned, counting again and checking the wind direction as it blew
through the pines.

“
I've made it a bit trickier just to see how it affects your
weapon,” she said, lying down on her front and setting up the
bi-pod. She shuffled in the damp leaves until she'd got the
position she wanted, then loaded the magazine, working the leaver
back and forth. “It's been well cared for I see.”

“
I've kept up with the oil.”

“
Good. Here we go.” She drew the cocking lever back and
chambered a round. Then she lifted the protective caps off the
front and back of the sight and breathed out, lining up the shot.
She seemed frozen there for a long time, not moving a single muscle
and hardly breathing. She shuffled slightly, a little nudge of her
right knee, then still as a marble statue once more.

The report made me jump and it echoed around my head for a
few seconds. Riley didn't seem to have moved at all and she sat
there, still staring down the sights. She fired again but this time
I was ready. Then she got up, ejected the magazine and popped out
the round that was already chambered. Then she passed it to me
while she unzipped her tools.

“
It just needs a bit of a tweak,” she said. The strong smell
of cordite wafted up from the weapon as she began breaking the
rifle into small pieces, taking each one and adjusting various
bolts and tensioners. Her hands moved with the unnatural speed of a
tradesman who knew her craft. A few minutes later and she'd
reassembled it.

“
Let's give him another go,” she said, dropping to the same
position and aiming into the woods once more. This time there was
little hesitation and she fired three rounds in as many seconds.
“That's better. Here, you give it a try now.”

She passed me the rifle and I led down next to her, tucking
the stock into my shoulder and lining up my shot. I could see the
tree she'd chosen as her target. She'd ignored the can and grouped
her shots on the bark of a beech tree to adjust the rifle
with.

“
Nail that can, my man!” she said, looking down the makeshift
range.

“
Before today the aim was off to the left,” I said.

“
Forget that. I’ve sorted it out and zeroed the sight for you.
Line up the cross-hairs with the can and see where it falls.
There's a mild side wind coming in from the east but you need to
get a feel for how much it will affect your shot.”

I eased into readiness, lining up my shot and letting out my
breath. When I was happy, I gently pulled the trigger back and felt
the kick as the report blasted my ears again. When I looked down
the sight the can had disappeared.

“
You happy?” she asked.

“
Yeah,” I said. “What did you do?”

“
Nothing much. He's a beauty but things work loose over time
so I just gave him a tweak. You already have a good idea how much
allowance to give for the wind, hence how you hit that can, but at
least now you'll get some repeatability out of your
shots.”

“
Thanks.”

She waved me away with a grin and got up, dusting herself
off. I unloaded the rifle and pocketed the empty shells.

“
You must have been a good teacher,” I said once we started
walking back. She shrugged and I sensed there was something wrong
but this wasn't the time to push her for an answer. She'd been
right though - the time in the house wasn't achieving much and I
knew Riley needed to be out in the field and busy with her craft.
Then it dawned on me that so did I and I was more keen than ever to
show her how this bullshit worked. I also realised that there were
a host of demons in this woman and I was beginning to worry about
how they would find their way to the surface.

I waited for her to gather her gear and bring it over to the
huts before locking up the house and hiding the keys in the
strongbox buried under one of the bronze benches. Dad had always
hidden the keys there rather than risk losing them whilst we were
travelling and he'd made a special hole in the ground for them. The
strongbox kept them dry.

“
I've left a lot of gear I didn't need in my room,” she said
as I approached. I could see her shape in the darkness, the rifle
across her arms and the pack on her back.

“
That's okay. We'll be coming back and forth for a
while.”

“
Did you consider putting more kit in there?” she said,
pointing to my pack.

“
Nope.”

“
Shame. Looks like one of us will be coming back sooner than
they thought they would.”

“
We'll see.”

“
Lead off, tracker,” she said. It'd been a cold night and an
even colder morning and Riley was in her woolly hat once more, her
soft, feathered hair flowing out from under it almost like she
planned it that way. She had tight fitting marksman gloves on and
the index finger of her right hand poked out through an opening
stitched specially into it.

I'd layered up for the trip, putting on my own woolly hat and
neck warmer but my gloves I kept in the pocket on my thigh. I'd
warm up pretty quickly and expected to take off my top at least
before the afternoon. In my pack were warmer clothes for the night
when the temperatures would drop sharply and I always carried a
pair of cleated straps for my boots. I enjoyed walking in winter
but it came with its own kit list.

I set off across the grounds and led the way through the
thick belt of woodland that surrounded that side of the house,
heading roughly eastward in the direction of the first bunker we
intended to explore. I'd spent a good hour or so the previous night
plotting the positions of each possible target onto an OS map,
trying to narrow down our search to those that the drone may have
been flying over. It was the slimmest of chances that my guess
would be right, but it was all we had.

Dawn came with the murmur of a cold east wind and the sky
began to smoulder with the heat of a winter sun. Moisture gathered
on our neck warmers where our condensed breath touched it in soft,
wispy clouds and I could hear Riley's breathing coming in the long,
slow inhalations of someone used to exertion.

We walked on for about an hour until it was fully daylight,
then broke off south to avoid a sharp climb over some boggy
moorland. It was all familiar territory to me and I rarely
consulted the map, choosing to walk from memory alone.

“
No offence,” said Riley, “But I'm glad to be out of the
house.”

“
I know what you mean,” I replied. “You can't beat it out here
and at least we're doing something.”

“
I can't sit around, Miller, you may have noticed. It drives
me fucking crazy. My Mom always said the same thing. 'Claudia, you
ain't made for sitting' she'd say. She knew one day I'd end up
doing something like this.”

“
You must have done a fair bit with the Rangers.”

“
Yeah, I guess. A lot of that was close action, get in, get
out. No time to enjoy the view. Not like this mission.”

“
And what do you make of the English countryside then?” I
asked.

“
Wet,” she replied, laughing. “Wet and cold but it beats sun
and more sun like we have back home.”

“
I never thought I'd hear someone complain that they had too
much sun.”

“
Well here you are and I'm saying it. I get sick of the
dryness and the constant squinting. I like a bit of rain now and
again, but maybe your country is pushing it a bit too far. You
can't seem to go a few days without getting soaked.”

“
That's the truth I'm afraid. You're never far from a
shower.”

“
You're telling me.”

We walked onwards until noon and stopped for dinner beside a
fast running stream that came down off the fells. It was a loud,
crashing body of water and if the weather had been hot in summer me
and Dad would often dip our bare feat in it to cool off.